Shattered Walls
by Tarafina
Summary: Oliver's out to enlighten a carefully distant Chloe that they weren't going to fight it anymore.


**Title**: Shattered Walls  
**Category**: Smallville  
**Genre**: Romance/Drama/Humor  
**Ship**: Chloe/Oliver  
**Rating**: PG13  
**Prompt**: Picture by dhfreak  
**Word Count**: 3,074  
**Shout-outs**: Slytherinpunk for reminding of the deadline before I left for my vacation and didn't get this up! And dhfreak for being such an incredible artist and making this great challenge up for all of us fantastic Chlollie writers!  
**Summary**: Oliver's out to enlighten a carefully distant Chloe that they weren't going to fight it anymore.

**_Shattered Walls_**  
-1/1-

He was staring at her again; this wasn't a new occurrence, in fact she'd gotten quite used to it over time. Oliver Queen was the type of man who needed to know everything, which in turn meant he liked to take apart, piece by piece, every person, thing, or subject he came in contact with. Chloe Sullivan was an enigma, and she liked it that way. Opening up to him meant trusting him and trusting him would lead to disastrous results. It was nothing against Oliver, but she had a history of putting her trust in the wrong people and he just so happened to be tossed in with the rest. Besides, this was neither the place nor time do be having one of those insightful conversations where he tried to pick her brain and she dodged his every attempt.

Forcibly, she kept her eyes on the speaker ahead of them. Standing atop a podium, the main attraction was an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair perfectly styled and a dashing smile that would make just about any woman forget his lesser qualities in favor of the charm that radiated from his every pore. A spokesperson by trade, Alan Gredwall had made a career of talking anybody into anything he needed or wanted and, at least for tonight, those generous abilities were for a charity response. While the rich and snobbish broke out their checkbooks, Chloe kept to the sidelines, enjoying the show. And still she couldn't help but feel his brown eyes lingering on her from just a few inches to her left.

Standing near the bar, with a fake window at their backs that was made to light up in various colors, giving a certain passionate feel to the area, each inhale of steadying breath was filled with the lingering scent of red roses that filled the modern glass vase behind them. Not for the first time, she felt dressed down and out of place in her casual clothes, surrounded by people who dropped a grand or three on an evening gown used only one night. The fact that Oliver wore only a pinstriped grey dress shirt and a pair of black slacks didn't calm her any; the man could make a potato sack look like Versace.

Uncomfortable still with his staring, her hand lifted to her gold necklace, fiddling with the end, wrapping it around her fingers and then tugging it back into place. If she would let herself look at him, she knew she'd find that smirk of his curving his lips; the one that said he knew she knew he was watching her. If he couldn't figure her out, he could at least unnerve her. Lesser men had tried and failed and she supposed that was part of the thrill.

Clapping interrupted her thoughts; Gredwall was done talking them out of their money and they were all hurrying to be the highest bidder. Whatever they put out, it wouldn't be near enough to what Oliver would provide. The man known for his playboy attitude and drunken public displays was still a charitable heart and in the end, he would pay for most of the proceeds and the event itself. Much as she disliked his attention, she couldn't dislike the man. He was more of a hero than anybody in this room would know and she was one of the lucky few who knew it; perhaps more so than even those that surrounded him in his heroic duties.

Still full champagne glass in hand, he covered the last few inches between them and turned his body in her direction, resting an elbow on the bar and turning his head down so they were eye to eye.

With a sigh, she pursed her lips, effecting a disgruntled expression. "What happened to staying distant and keeping an eye on the crowd?" she wondered, a little bite to her words.

"Maybe I exaggerated the possibility of trouble tonight," he admitted with a grin.

Scowling, she cocked a brow. "Tell me you didn't drag me out to this gathering of snobs trying to outdo each other because your little black book ran out of women willing to put up with you…"

Licking his lips, his eyes fell in amusement before catching hers once more, intensely daring her to look away. "I doubt my book would ever run dry, Sidekick… But I did drag you out for no real work purpose." Cocking a brow, he looked around pointedly. "You really think I'd leave the rest of the guys behind if I thought something big was going to hit?"

Her mistake, she supposed, for trusting his instincts in a situation he knew better than her. Sighing, she reached for the purse lying useless on the stool next to her. "Then I'm calling it a night, _Boss_." With a sarcastic salute, she meant to leave. "Do me a favor and _don't _fill me on the rest of this boring night."

Before she could move, he reached out, stilled her with a firm hand on her shoulder. "Before you run away, hear me out."

Eyes narrowing darkly, she frowned. "I don't _run away_, Queen. You should know that better than anyone."

His lips twitched. "I do… Which is why I know that accusing you of that early means you won't dare leave in case you look like a coward."

He had her there.

Dropping her purse to the stool once more, she stared up at him impatiently. "So what is this? What big news do you have to share that needed a room full of wealthy strangers I'd rather never meet again?"

He stared again, didn't say a word. Breathing, in and out, slow and easy, with the kind of deliberate relaxation that only served to put her more on edge. Raising the flute, he drank half of his champagne and then dropped it back to his side. Licking his lips, drawing her eyes to that firm mouth of his, he flashed white teeth with an edge of animalistic hunger that only made her stomach tighten and her throat run dry. Suddenly, she felt like prey rather than partner-in-crime and knew she should've taken the chance to run when it was in front of her.

He moved, arms caging her in, hand on either side of the bar as he hovered so close, so tall above her that she felt like a small, sheltered being, his warmth seeping into her skin and leaving her breathless. Staring up at him from beneath long, dark lashes she hoped she portrayed the fearless woman she usually was and not the curious and wary person now assaulting her courage.

His head lowered, so close she swore she could feel his breath on her lips, his forehead against hers, his nose brushing her own. A shaky breath escaped her parted mouth and from the way his eyes flashes, she was sure hot air skittered across his lips from hers.

"For a woman who doesn't run, you have a habit of hiding," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that had goosebumps fanning along her flesh.

Her lips curled in a sneer. "And what am I hiding from, Oliver?"

He grinned, reached up with one of his large, long-fingered hands and tucked a wavy chunk of blonde hair behind her ears. "Me… Us…" He stared down at her with such _knowing _that she felt like all of her secrets had spilled out and laid bare before his eyes. "The you I know so well…"

She swallowed tightly, a well of emotion, fear, and desire falling thickly to her trembling stomach.

"You _think _you know me…"

"I _know _I do," he argued, a flash of anger in his voice. "You wish I didn't and you can try and tell me different but we both know that I know you… Better than anyone."

Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding.

And what did he know? Really? Her past, her present… Dealings that not even Clark would understand; her mistakes and her less-than-innocent actions. Her fears, her hopes, the dreams she thought she'd forgotten. Had she shared so much in the time they'd known each other? He had a way of getting those things out of her; a shot of whiskey here, a quiet moment where he waited for her to elaborate there… And with the freedom of a woman who thought there was nothing he didn't already know, she told him her deepest and darkest of secrets and passions. In the hollow shadows of her watch tower, she'd shared with him what nobody else had wanted to hear. How she ached, how she cried only when the tears would wait no longer. How she didn't miss Jimmy as much or as deeply as she thought she would. How sometimes, as callous as it sounded, she almost felt freer now that he and Davis were gone. And he'd brushed those tears from her cheeks, held her when she cried, and soothed the ache away with a welcomed ear.

It was in the glaring light of day that she returned to the woman she had to be; the one with all the walls and blocks, the carefully built shields that kept others at bay. Seeming emotionless, careless even, she did her job and kept the others at arms length. Until the sun fell and night came calling, bringing with it an Oliver who wore no leathers and no business suit, just a friendly smile that would forever be her downfall. It was night now, but the room was so bright she could try and fool herself; they were not alone and she would not fall prey to his encouraging eyes and thick silence.

"Your fan club is getting jealous, Oliver, better not waste your time on an unwilling participant," she muttered scathingly, grasping for any sense of stability.

He didn't look, didn't bother to see what women had come to stare and earn his attention through fake lashes batted in his direction and overstuffed cleavage out at the forefront. Instead he slid his arms in close, biceps flexing beneath that casual dress shirt of his, brushing against her arms with purpose. "Still so sure you know _me_, Chloe?" he asked, close enough that he could whisper and it would sound like a shout. "And how many of these fans of mine have I been spending my much-desired time with these last few months, hm?"

She trembled, refused to admit that any off-time he had was spent with her. Too intimate, too _true_. "How would I know? I monitor your movements for safety, Oliver, not to keep you STD free."

He grinned, but the dark edge only served to make her shudder. How a man so angry with her could make her thighs shiver with awareness, she didn't know. Jimmy was always patient, always kind and goofy; he never made her feel like anything but a pretty woman with a good guy. And Davis was all intense darkness; sadness, despair and fear shrouded what might've been a handsome and good man. But Oliver was neither and yet both of those; he was intense when it warranted it and easily charming when he needed to be. All the same, there were times when his defenses fell so much that she felt like she was looking at a man only _he _had really known.

This was the intense Oliver; a purpose to his words and movements that left her wondering. And behind those warm eyes was an emotion she'd seen often and had yet to give a name to. She'd witnessed it often; during nights they spent laughing, talking, wrapped in the past, the present, the future that once looked so bleak. She talked, he listened, he talked, she listened, and in the end, they both heard, both understood. A flash in his eyes; of tenderness, perhaps. Or something deeper, something never truly explored.

And she was adamant it stay that way.

"I always get what I want, Chloe…"

She ground her teeth, staring up at him and hitting him where she knew it would hurt, "Except Lois… Right?"

She expected a wince, a flinch, but received nothing.

"I wanted her… Had her for a time… And kept after what we had rather than see what was so clearly in front of me…" His brows rose with self-understanding. "If I'd loved her as much as I convinced myself I did, things would've turned out differently."

She frowned. "A little confident, don't you think? She's living the good life with her favorite farm boy currently."

"And she wouldn't have gotten there if I hadn't let go before we got where we were headed…" He shook his head. "For the better."

Brows furrowed, she pursed her lips. "You loved her."

He nodded.

"You _still _love her."

He shook his head.

She huffed, disbelieving. "Oliver, it was just a little while ago that you were chasing after her like a puppy looking for its owner."

He scowled. "My memory's in good working order, Sidekick. And it was six months ago, not yesterday."

Rolling her eyes, she scoffed. "So six months erases whatever love you did have?"

"No," he agreed. "But it does provide insight."

Licking her lips, she refused to look interested. "And what earth-moving insights have you stumbled upon?"

"I loved Lois… Past-tense." He shook his head, lifting a shoulder. "If nothing else, she reminded me that there were great things, great _people_, out there that I was missing out on…" He grinned. "And she did a pretty good job of knocking some sense into me."

Chloe couldn't hide a smile. "One of her many talents."

He nodded. "Which is why realizing what I feel now wasn't as dumbfounding as it might've been…"

Stiffening up, she faced him with wary wonder. "And what is it you _feel_?"

"For such a smart woman, you really are entirely too oblivious," he mused, chuckling.

Lip curling, she cocked a brow. "Care to repeat that when I'm holding my .45?"

He grinned. "Not really a masochist, but we'll see how you're feeling later."

"I don't plan on being around _later_, so maybe we'll reschedule the rest of this enlightening conversation for a time when I'm armed and not in a room full of witnesses," she snarked.

"Your plans have been put on hold, Sidekick. For now, you'll have to pay attention to mine and see where it leads."

Shaking her head, she sighed. "And where's that?"

"With any luck, tonight my apartment and in the near future, a wedding chapel…" He shrugged. "It'll take convincing, but I've got a few tactics up my sleeve that'll leave you momentarily stunned and more agreeable."

She snorted. "Getting ahead of yourself, don't you think?"

He shook his head, firmly. "No… In fact, I think I'm catching us up on something that's been staring us in the face and going ignored entirely too long."

"Is that right?" she drawled.

"Fight me all you want," he murmured before lifting a hand and cupping her delicate neck in his wide palm. Thumb stroking up and down and finally along the line of her jaw, he tipped her head back slowly. "I'll convince you yet." With that, his lips embraced hers, firm and warm. Erasing the little space between them, his body pressed against her own; all hard plains and flexing muscles that made her stomach jolt and her thighs quiver. Teeth nipped her lower lip, an escaped gasp parting her mouth for him to delve inside. Tongues dueling for dominance and lips bruising as they slanted and met possessively, he buried his fingers in her hair and held tight.

She should have pushed him away; every carefully built wall she'd built told her that letting this happen, letting him in, meant that eventually she would trust him with everything, and eventually she would love him beyond reason. Which, inevitably, would lead to that chapel he'd spoken of and if her second marriage was anything like her first, it wouldn't go well. But his breathless kisses that left her mouth and thickly trailed across her cheek, down her neck, and buried in her hair told her that he was _not _Jimmy Olson. He was, perhaps, the farthest thing from goofy Jimmy.

Oliver Queen was an intense man, hero, and no doubt lover. Much as she had tried to ignore the possibility, the guarantee that he offered, she knew the truth. There were two choices here; keep holding him at bay, keep pushing him away, and live the carefully distant life she'd cut out for herself. Or give up, give _in_, and take hold of the passionate man currently awakening every fiber of _woman _that she'd stuffed in a box labeled 'hibernating' and let herself _free_. Hands currently gripping the bar behind her, white knuckles a sign of her fears, grew loose and she finally let go to reach for him. Arms sliding around his waist, hands creeping up his back, fingers dug in to him and held on tight.

Seconds, minutes, maybe even _hours _later when he broke away from her, he was panting, she was desperately dragging in air, and her knees were unsteady. He would catch her, she thought half-drowned in him already. His nose nuzzled hers, affectionate, and that spark of tenderness – of _love_ – flashed clear in dark brown eyes. "You done fighting yet?"

She grinned. "I'm a fighter by nature, Ollie… You'll have to do better than one little kiss."

His smile spread slowly, suggestively, _promising _that the night would only lead to more convincing and even if she was already there, she was more than ready to delve into the delights he offered.

Protective walls lay shattered at her feet, forgotten. The charity was soon a memory as he dragged her from the room by her hand, fingers woven together, waving for his car. In minutes they were headed to Queen Tower, to more of those drugging kisses and wandering hands, to heated bodies meeting and melding in sheets of green. By morning, when the sun crept in asking for discretion and distance, she would ignore it. Instead of putting on the mask, of hiding behind those blocks she'd carefully built, she would crawl deeper into his arms, face buried in his hard chest, and she would trust that loving him was the right thing to do.

For once, during her long list of relationship mistakes, she would be _right_.


End file.
